


The Bare Necessities

by Kakotheres_Writes



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Family, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Season/Series 06, Season 6 Divergent, Slow Burn, microsoft word made me do it, sorry about all the commas, starts angsty then gets progressively fluffy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-06-25 16:24:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19749394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kakotheres_Writes/pseuds/Kakotheres_Writes
Summary: After the defeat of the Primes, Bellamy and Clarke slowly build their way to a normal life one step at a time.





	1. Family

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this was originally supposed to be an extended oneshot and then ya bitch happened and now all the chapters are at least 3000 words each. Whoops!  
> Also I started writing this when 6x05 came out so it is VERY canon-divergent. The big things being no Sheidheda, no Kabby drama and Clarke doesn't remember being possessed by Josie.  
> Please enjoy!

Clarke wakes up to the sound of screaming.

Panic runs through her veins on instinct. Her mind tries desperately to grasp onto any one thought, but it has lain dormant for far too long to make sense of reality just yet.

She feels cold metal under her back and a needle in her arm, a chilling numbness crawling through her veins. A wise, old and saddened face leans over hers in front of a curtain of bright lights whispering, _“I’m sorry Clarke.”_ She was paralysed but she thrashes around as much as she can anyway, not registering the pain in her wrists, legs and head the more she struggles. Her mind runs wild thinking _‘No! Please, no! I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die! Russel, please! No! NO, PLEASE!’_

The screaming increases in volume, drowning out all the other frantic voices calling out to her in the room, and she realises that the screams echo the words inside her own head. She realises that she is the one screaming.

She can scream.

She moves her limbs even more wildly, this time paying attention to the fact that, yes, they are moving.

She can move too.

A blur of a figure walks up beside her, between the metal table she is laying on and the bright lights of the lab, and in a blind panic she scrambles away from him, away from Russel trying to kill her. She doesn’t recognise that she has scooted all the way back and off the table until the pain shoots up her spine from landing heavily on the floor. She doesn’t let it distract her from her survival, however, as the figure rounds the table, advancing on her again. She backs away from him on all fours, still screaming – for help, for mercy, for anything but to die like this – until her back hits a wall. She can’t feel the knife she keeps in her boot so she curls up on herself, as deep into the wall as she can, and holds her hands out in front of her. It’s the only defence she has left.

The figure kneels down in front of her, so she takes a swing at his face and yells to “Stay away! STAY AWAY!” But he grabs both of her wrists in his hands and holds them steadily between them. She fights harder in his firm grip, but she is weak. She still feels as though she is waking up from a long sleep, exhausted even though her blood runs frantically in her veins. She yells again and she feels pain strike through her brain like lightening at the loud noise. Then her head just keeps pounding in agony. Maybe her head was pounding this entire time but she didn’t realise it until now. Her chest hurts too. Her lungs and throat burn and shudder with every hasty exhale.

When the pain in her head gets her to stop screaming, she finally hears the soft murmurings of the man knelt in front of her.

It isn’t Russel’s voice. No, it’s too deep. Too young. And way too familiar. She knows this voice. It’s a voice she’s heard both in her mind and in real life, reassuring her during some of her worst moments. She remembers this voice laughing along with hers during some of her best. It wraps around her like a warm blanket. It sooths her frayed nerves like a cool balm.

It mutters to her, “It’s okay, Clarke, you’re okay. That’s it, just breathe. You’re gonna be fine, Clarke. It’s just me. You’re safe. You’re safe. Just breathe in… and out. Yeah, just like that, good – in… and out… You’re okay. In… and out…”

Clarke follows his instructions. She would follow him anywhere. She breathes in when he says, and out when he says. Back in. Back out. Over and over again until her body-wracking sobs slow into soft pants. His hands slide from her wrists, letting them fall into her lap, up to rub soothing circles on her shoulders. The panic fades from her mind, not completely – she is still in the lab underneath the castle, she is still in pain, and she still doesn’t know what’s going on other than last time she checked she was getting murdered. She may still be in danger, but this voice is her shield.

He continues to comfort her and the tears that she hadn’t even noticed were streaming down her face slow to a halt. The blur in her eyes clear. She begins to see the face in front of her.

Bronze skin framed by messy black curls that fall carelessly over his forehead and meander down his cheeks to his scruffy beard. Full lips. Freckles, so many beautiful soft freckles. And deep brown eyes.

Those eyes.

They too, are brimming with tears but they stare so steadily into hers, pleading as desperately as her voice had been moments ago, but silently, for her to come around. To understand. To calm down and know that she is safe. His gaze is the most familiar part about him. The most trusted. Clarke feels at home in his eyes. That’s what snaps her back to reality.

“Bellamy?” her voice is weak and hoarse from the screaming but it’s enough for his face to split into a sunshine-strong smile of relief.

He huffs out a soft laugh and shifts one of his hands to brush a strand of blonde hair away from her face, “Hey, Princess. Welcome back.”

She is about to ask him what he means by that, but the last vestiges of fear take over and prompt her to look over his broad shoulder at the many people she now sees are in the lab to scan for Russel or Simone. Or any threat.

Her assessment is interrupted, however, because the first two people her eyes land on rush forward in a flash of black clothing and brown hair to wrap themselves around her.

Clarke peers down at the small frame and mess of braids tucked tightly against her chest and some of the unease seeps out of her body at the sight of her daughter safe in her arms. The taller figure leans back from where she was resting against Clarke’s shoulder revealing the aged complexion and greying streaks of her mother.

Abby places her hand against Clarke’s cheek, wiping away the remnants of tears, and absorbs her face like she hasn’t seen it in years, “Hi Sweetheart.”

“Hi Mom,” Clarke whispers back, she ducks her head down to press a kiss to her own daughter’s forehead. “Hi Madi.”

Madi lifts her head from her chest and gives her a watery smile in return, “Hi.”

Bellamy shifts next to her, still kneeling but now to the side, opposite to her mother. He turns his gaze to the people standing behind him, Clarke’s gaze follows. Standing at the back of the lab is almost all of their people. Miller, Jordan, Murphy, Emori, Raven, Echo and Gaia are huddled near the door, Jackson stands closer to the medical equipment, and they’re all staring back at her.

Clarke tries to decipher the looks on all their individual faces (relief, concern, amazement) but her head pounds forcefully again, which serves as a reminder that she is… hurt? But safe? She isn’t sure.

She turns back to her little family still crowded around her, questioning anxiously, “What happened? What’s going on?”

The three share a heavy look and Abby starts, “What do you remember Clarke?”

“Delilah’s Naming Day,” Clarke begins with her last solid memory before things started getting panicky and wild, then moves forward. “The party at the bar. Cillian… he paralysed me. Then Russel and Simone brought me here.” The next part is a struggle to say. She might almost believe it was a terrible nightmare, but she knows deep in her gut that something is wrong, she feels awkward and wrong within her body. “They wanted to bring back their daughter, but they had to kill me to do it. So, they did. They _killed_ me.” She feels the needle slide into her skin once more, hears Russel’s apologies as the life slips from her being. But that doesn’t make sense. Because if they killed her, how is she still here? “They killed me but I’m… alive?”

Madi grabs tight to her hand and a sad little smile forms on her young face, “Yeah, you’re alive.”

“So,” Clarke queries, “You stopped them?”

Guilt flashes across their faces. Bellamy and Abby’s eyes meet for a second before Abby breaks the stare to look unsurely back at Clarke. “Not exactly,” she says cryptically.

Clarke gives a short shake of her head to indicate that she doesn’t understand.

Bellamy sighs, his forehead creasing, and begins to explain how the Primes live through mind drives inserted into other nightbloods’ brains. How they convinced their people it was an honour to be killed and erased from your own body so that they, the “gods,” could live on.

Fear and disgust rise in her belly as the words Russel whispered to her ring through her memory. The words that were making more sense. He was trying to put _someone else_ in _her body_. She feels her face contort in horror, but Bellamy continues, “Russel and Simone wanted their daughter, Josephine, back. They tried to mind-wipe you so that they could put her chip in, but it didn’t work. You still have neural mesh in your head from ALIE, and that protected you, your mind, from being erased. That’s how you’re still alive.”

Clarke sighs out her relief; no one took over her body.

But she still has a feeling something is wrong, so she clarifies, “So, they failed?”

Bellamy tenses again and she feels Madi burrow back into her chest for a tight hug, so she wraps her arms around her, scared of what the truth may turn out to be.

“Not exactly.” Abby repeats. This time Clarke and Bellamy send the older woman matching annoyed glances because that response is not helpful _at all_.

Bellamy, once more, makes the brave decision to clarify, “The mind-wipe failed, yeah...” He pauses and looks like what he is about to say makes him nauseous. “But Russel and Simone didn’t know that at first, so they put Josephine’s chip in anyway.”

“And she took over my body.”

“…Yes.”

She’s going to throw up. Panic rises within her once more and tears drip down her face again. She clutches Madi to her, her nails digging into her jacket, pressing so close it probably hurt the girl.

She feels violated.

Clarke is a living breathing person with autonomy and intelligence and a _life_. And this woman she’s never met invaded her body and used it as a… disposable meat suit.

Her mind almost slips back into the blind instinctual fear she felt when she first woke up, and she needs a lifeline.

Bellamy must see this and understand because he reaches over, unhooks her hand from Madi’s jacket and clutches it tight between his. She can see the devastation on his face, how he’s disgusted by the thought of her being possessed by some unknown woman too. She finally takes a good look at his face. He looks haggard. He has massive bags under his eyes and has let his beard grow shaggy and unkempt. She recognises immediately that he hasn’t been sleeping. He always looks like this when he feels the world falling apart around them and decides it’s both his fault and responsibility to fix it. Has probably been running himself ragged for days. Maybe longer.

That thought gives her pause. Another wave of sickness washes over her.

She swallows her fear, asks “How long?” Dreading the answer.

Madi pulls back. All three people in front of her have their brows knit together in guilt. Her mother refuses to meet her eyes. Madi can’t seem to form words as she begins to cry in earnest.

So, again she turns to Bellamy, though he seems to hate the words coming out of his mouth as much as she hates hearing them.

“Three weeks.”

Clarke’s mind goes blank but for two words it can’t seem to understand.

_‘Three weeks.’_

_‘Three weeks.’_

_‘Three weeks.’_

She’d just woken up feeling as though the attack was still happening.

Then she’d assumed they had stopped it and she had woken up minutes perhaps a few short hours later.

She had dreaded the possibility of being trapped within her own mind while her body walked around for a couple of days.

But _weeks._

_Three weeks._

Ever since her feet touched the ground her life has moved so fast. She could experience a whole lifetime of stress, pain, love, happiness and regret all in one week. The world flipped itself on its head at least four times a day. And she had missed out on _three weeks._

How much had happened that she had not been here for? Had people died? Had wars been fought and treaties been agreed upon? Were their old worries put behind them and new dangers rounding the corner? Was the world still the same as when she left it? Or had it fundamentally changed, so that just as she was getting used to her new reality she would have to readjust again?

Did her family think she was dead all along? Did they mourn her? Or were they fighting to get her back this whole time?

Was Madi alone? Or did her mother take care of her? Or Bellamy? Or Gaia?

If the Primes are capable of raising a civilisation to die for their immortality like lambs to the slaughter, what amount of evil was this Josephine able to inflict from within her body over three long weeks?

Clarke realises how long she’s been silent for and meets each of their worried faces.

She can’t let them worry for her. Not until she’s sure all danger is passed.

“Josephine’s out now?” she asks.

Madi nods.

She continues, “Where is she? And the rest of the Primes? If Russel was willing to kill me to get his daughter back, he won’t be happy you’ve taken her out.”

Bellamy sooths her concerns, “All the Primes are out now.” He points to a tray on one of the desks holding many Flame-like microchips, “When Josephine woke up and realised how few nightbloods they had “in stock” and how long she had been “on ice” for, she became obsessed with making more nightbloods no matter the cost. She had apparently been talking about selective breeding programmes and culling red-blooded members of the population for decades. But then she found out that Abby could make nightbloods, so she thought she could take advantage of that and make herself an unlimited supply, using our people as well as the people of Sanctum. When we found out about everything, the Primes and mind-wiping and Josephine’s plans, we tried to stop it. But it was hard to do that without starting a war.

“We tried to convince the Sanctum people to rise up against them but most of them were too scared or still submissive to the Primes. Even after we told them that they aren’t gods, they’re just people with a lot of bad science and worse leadership. They still wouldn’t do anything. They didn’t want to believe us.

“Eventually we reasoned with Russel. He saw what Josephine was doing and realised that she wasn’t really his daughter anymore. That with every lifetime the Primes stole they’ve lost a part of their humanity and it was turning them into monsters. He told the truth to the people of Sanctum and they finally started to believe us, then he convinced a few of the other Primes that it was time for them to die and let the rest of humanity move on without them. We helped bring the rest of them down. Josephine was the last.”

Abby quickly pipes up, “Do you remember anything from when Josephine was in control?”

Clarke shakes her head again, no. She couldn’t remember any of Josephine’s thoughts or any sensations. She wasn’t even aware of being unconscious.

“That’s probably for the best.” Abby nods.

Clarke takes a moment so the explanation she’s been given can compute in her head. The onslaught of information, both good and bad, makes her head pound. But a thought arises from within the chaos.

_‘Does that mean it’s over?’_

Bellamy must read the question on her face.

“We’re safe, Clarke.” He comforts. “The Primes are as good as gone. The Sanctum people are on our side and standing on their own two feet. They want to help us build our own city. We already have most of the knowledge and supplies we need to do that. It’s over.” Clarke lets her eyes close against the fluorescent lights and her body relax against the wall. “It’s over, we’re safe. _You’re safe._ And now we get our second chance.”

They’re safe.

There are no foreseeable threats on the rise. Just peace and rebuilding.

She can do that.

Probably after a nap though because right now her head feels heavy with exhaustion. She doesn’t know if that makes sense or not. On one hand she’s been asleep for three weeks. On the other, it wasn’t so much sleep as being repressed into a cage in the back of her own mind resulting in forced unconsciousness while a whole other person shared and piloted her brain space. Either way she’s tired. And safe. Finally, safe.

She feels her face glide into a smile.

Then she feels Madi and her mom come back in for a tight hug. She goes to wrap her arms around the both of them, but she can’t move her left hand. She remembers Bellamy is still holding it. Making a rash decision, she tugs on that arm, pulling him into the hug too.

It is a suffocatingly tight and wonderful embrace. She has one arm thrown over Bellamy’s shoulder, her hand cupping his neck, the other winds around her mother’s back, grasping her shoulder. She tucks her face down, pressing her cheek to Madi’s, the young girl smothered happily in the centre of the group hug. Someone is combing their fingers through her hair; other hands grip her back. Her family is enveloped around her and it is glorious.

She woke up feeling terror but now she feels herself drifting back to sleep in utter serenity.


	2. Clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So "soon" was an understatement.  
> Yikes this was a long one.

She doesn’t actually get to sleep. Not yet at least.

Echo’s voice wafts across the room stating that there is still much to do by morning and everyone in the room snaps their gazes from the quartet on the floor and into action. Gaia and Jordan move to Jackson as he examines the mind-drives. Echo and Miller start a discussion in low voices. Raven, Emori and Murphy seem to come to a quick decision before the two girls leave the room.

Thus, the moment breaks and with it, the hug.

Her mom and Bellamy stand first, helping her and Madi to their feet. Clarke wobbles where she stands, almost falls over, but Bellamy catches her in his strong arms. She worries for a moment that she has suffered brain damage or that she is so worn out that her legs have stopped working.

But then she looks down at her feet and sees the high-heeled shoes she’s wearing. That explains the wobbliness. On the Ark they all wore sensible trainers. On Earth heavy combat boots were a necessity. The daintiest shoes she’s ever worn were the sandals she’d been given with her Sanctum dresses. These heels are thicker and aren’t as high as some of the heels she saw in Mount Weather but, having never worn heels before, she hasn’t a hope in standing steadily, even if she was at full strength.

Her eyes drift from her shoes to the hem of her dress. It isn’t the dress she was wearing on Delilah’s Naming Day.

“What the hell am I wearing?”

Murphy steps away from the door and leans casually on the operating table, letting out a sardonic laugh, “Not a fan of Josie’s style then?”

This dress is sleeker and tighter and has a much more revealing neckline than any other dress she’s ever seen. It’s floor-length but it has slits up to the thighs. It’s red and pink and gold and sparkly. It has a bow around the waist. It’s gaudy and ridiculous.

A strand of hair falls into her face and as she brushes it back, she discovers that on top of her head, probably contributing to its heaviness, is a… _tiara?_

Clarke knits her brows and widens her eyes to convey that _no_ she is _not_.

He laughs again so she stumbles over to him and rests a hand on one of his shoulders. She uses his body as a crutch, keeping her balance as she leans down and wrestles Josephine’s shoes off of her feet.

When she straightens back up, she meets his sarcastic gaze with one of her own, “Thanks.”

His face softens a tad, and he mutters quietly, and only half joking, “Good to have you back, Clarke.” She is overcome by pleased, but teasing, surprise so he quickly backtracks, “I may not be able to stand you most of the time, but I prefer you to Josephine. You’re annoying. She’s an outright bitch. Don’t be too flattered I’d be welcome to anyone taking over your body so long as it got rid of her.”

But the glimmer of relief in his eyes, the fact that he still hasn’t pushed her hand off his shoulder, betrays him. Clarke chooses not to be saddened by his words, nor push him to admit that he’s happy for her return. Murphy is just Murphy. She knows him well enough to just take what he gives.

She retracts her hand and flexes her now bare feet.

He stands up straight, nods to her and the others, then clasps an arm around Jordan’s shoulders, leading the sad young man out of the room.

Clarke’s mouth stretches into a massive yawn, the force of it making her eyes clench shut.

At that Jackson looks up from the mind-drives, hands them to Gaia and turns to her.

“You should get some sleep Clarke,” he says. “Your brain’s been through the ringer. It’s gonna take some time to fully recover. You should take it easy and rest as much as possible to avoid any potential brain damage.”

Clarke nods, “Sleep sounds good.”

Bellamy steps up beside her, “We can set you up for the night in Josephine’s room.” She leans her tired body against his, the blue material of his shirt is soft against her skin, and looks up into his big brown eyes, so filled with care. “No one’s using it anymore and it’s a lot closer than the tavern. Probably more comfortable too.” Jackson, Madi and Clarke nod.

Abby steps forward and clasps her hands around Clarke’s own, peering softly and sadly into her eyes and hesitantly asks, “Do you mind if I stay the night with you and Madi?”

She nods her assent easily, perfectly understanding the maternal instinct. If Madi had been taken away from her for three weeks, Clarke might never let her out of her sight again.

“Okay then…” Abby smiles wearily, “I have no idea what Josephine did with your clothes, but I can go back to the tavern and try to find something for you that’s a little less…” She looks down at Clarke’s outfit and seems to struggle for the right adjective to describe the absurd ensemble Josephine had been strutting about in. Finally, she lands on: “That. A little less that. Then I can meet you up there.”

“Thanks Mom.” Clarke pulls her in for a quick hug, then the older woman turns and leaves the lab.

Echo and Miller appear to finish their conversation and follow quickly after, Miller stopping to press a kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek on the way out.

Clarke moves to leave too, Bellamy and Madi in tow, until Jackson speaks up.

“I’d like to check on Madi,” he announces cautiously. “If I may.”

Fear bolts through her system. _‘Check on Madi? Why does he need to check on Madi?’_ she thinks. She turns to look at her daughter and, now that the young girl stands facing Jackson, she can see the dried black blood and wound roughly taped shut on the back of her neck.

“What happened?!” she demands.

Madi snaps around to look at her with reassurance in her young eyes, “I’m fine. When Josephine found out I was a nightblood they tried to put a Prime in me, but Bellamy stopped them before they could. He saved me. Really, I’m fine.”

Guilt burns hot in her lungs at the thought that she hadn’t been here to protect her daughter, she cups her cheeks in her hands and searches her face for any sign that she is lying and in pain, just pretending to be strong for her sake. She doesn’t find any, but it doesn’t make her feel that much better.

The anguish inside her is only outweighed by the gratitude she feels for the man next to her. He does so much for her. Even just tonight he has saved her from the Primes, anchored her back into reality and comforted her like near no one else can. And now she knows Bellamy saved her daughter’s life, kept her safe when she couldn’t.

“She very likely is fine,” Jackson assures. “Or she will be once I clean and sew up the cut. But I still would like to do a brain scan to see if there’s any damage to the Flame or Madi’s brain. It’s very unlikely but I’d like to be safe.”

Clarke agrees and lets Madi go. She settles, leaning against one of the desks to wait while Madi is checked over, and straightens her posture as she feels it slip into an unfamiliar slouch, but both the men in the room send her concerned looks.

Jackson prompts, “Go get some sleep, Clarke. I’ll bring Madi up when I’m done.”

She is hesitant but Madi nods her insistence that she follows the doctor’s instructions and Bellamy grabs a soft hold of her wrist and begins to lead her out of the room. She relents and goes easily, bidding goodnight to Gaia, who is intensely fascinated by the mind-drives, on her way out.

Bellamy leads her out into the courtyard, up the grand staircase and into the castle proper. Once inside she is faced with two more flights of stairs, neither of which she would have made it up without Bellamy to stabilise her. Before long they come to the door of Josephine’s bedroom.

As he ushers her in, she appraises the room before her. There is a big round window opposite to the door that looks out over Sanctum, revealing the last remnants of light on the horizon as day fades into deep blue night. A large lavish bed stands against one of the walls. It _does_ look way more comfortable than the one she had in the tavern. Clothes and shoes lie strewn over a trunk and armchair in one corner of the room. A vanity covered in knickknacks, jewellery and cosmetics sits next to an ornate full-body mirror. By that, there is a door that leads to a simple en suite bathroom. Paintings, art supplies and two well-used easels covered in paint are scattered haphazardly around the room. Josephine was evidently an artist. Clarke scowls internally at the thought that she had anything in common with this woman.

She reaches up and begins to detangle the stupid tiara from her hair but finds it braided and pinned tightly in. She digs her nails in and pulls viciously at the hairpiece, but it only results in pain and, somehow, even more tangles.

Eventually Bellamy sees the mess she’s making and steps in, “C’mere.” He leads her over to the mirror by the vanity and there Clarke finally gets a look at herself.

She doesn’t recognise herself at first. Thinks there’s something wrong with the mirror. But then she looks harder, deeper beneath the mask Josephine had meticulously applied this morning and realises that, maybe, this person could be Clarke Griffin.

Her golden hair is shinier and cleaner than it’s ever been. Its curled perfectly so that soft spirals fall gracefully down to her jawline. The strands closest to her face lift up to wind securely around the tiara, holding it in place. The tiara itself is even gaudier than the dress. She has never seen real gold before, but she thinks the tiara might be made out of it. And with all the jewels encrusted within it, some of which are as large as her fingernail, all of them shining brighter than stars, she knows if this monstrosity of an accessory had existed back on Earth before the end of the world, it would have cost a fortune. It’s almost hard to look at.

Looking at her face is even harder. Josephine has used dark and light pigments all over to completely change her bone structure – heighten her cheekbones, narrow her forehead and nose, sharpen her jawline – pink on the apple on her cheeks to look cutesy. There is a glimmer on her cheek and brow bones and the tip of her nose to make her face look shiny even though she isn’t sweating. Her lips are covered in a dry gunk that has turned them bright red. There is red on her eyes too. Red Glitter. Covering the whole lids. Black and gold lines her eyes, and the black stretches up onto her eyelashes. A tear escapes her eye and the black tracks a clear line down her cheek.

“I don’t even look like me anymore.” She croaks.

More tears spread the black across her face and she tries to liken it to the war paint Grounders used to intimidate their enemies. She tried it herself once and in a way it does look similar. But it’s also nothing alike. This isn’t a fear tactic; it is another person’s attempt to take her face for themselves.

Bellamy’s eyes meet hers in the mirror trying to convey the comfort he can’t seem to put into words. But there isn’t really anything he can say to make her feel better in this moment, so instead he does.

He brings his long, calloused but deft fingers to her curls and carefully extracts the pins from within the complicated braids. One by one he pulls the pins out and drops them on the vanity, lets the braid fall loose and combs it out with his fingertips. Soon enough the tiara is no longer held to her head and he pulls that off and sets it aside too.

Clarke’s right hand grabs for the brush she sees laying on the vanity, but when she realises what it’s doing, she pulls it back and instead reaches with her left. With her hair now flowing freely, she tightly fists the brush and runs it through the blonde tresses. Instead of taming the hairs into straightness like she’d expected, the curls stay strong, but now they are separated and not in uniform ringlets, and so they poof out. Her hair looked stupid before, but she somehow made it worse because now it looks like a big chaotic yellow cloud with twice the volume of her head.

At the sound of Bellamy’s puff of (not unkind) laughter, she lays the brush down in defeat.

He takes the weariness of her gaze in stride and takes over once again, leading her into the bathroom, “Let’s get the make-up off first.” She nods. He finds a washcloth, wets it in the sink and hands it to her. She starts to gently rub the fake colour off of her skin using the mirror above the sink as her guide.

After a moment of comfortable silence, he asks, “How do you feel?”

“Tired.” She answers honestly.

He nods but doesn’t seem content with just that, “Anything else?”

“My head hurts,” the pounding has faded from earlier but still persists. And it’s of course not helped by all the crying and screaming she has done tonight which have led to pain in her eyes and throat. When she was out of it when she first woke, she thrashed about and fell harshly on her behind, so she can feel bruises forming all over her body as well. “Almost everywhere hurts. Not badly. I’m just achy. I’ve had worse.”

He doesn’t laugh at her poor attempt at a joke. “So,” he queries instead, concerned, “there’s no side effects from Josephine being in your head?” Her hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed. “Clarke?”

She almost doesn’t want to tell him. To burden him with this information. But she knows that if it were him, she’d want to know.

“I… I feel… weird.” She starts. His face, predictably, floods with worry. He folds his arms and nods to continue but she isn’t sure how to. How to explain what she’s feeling. “My body feels weird… I can tell she was in here and it feels wrong.” His frown deepens and he uncrosses his arms, leaning closer to her to offer comfort. Long moments of silence stretch out with Clarke smudging the black around her eyes, slowly getting it to remove itself, while she tries to think of a good way to explain the sensations in her body. Soon enough it occurs to her. “It’s like I have this shirt, right?” He nods to show he accepts the metaphor. “And this shirt always fit me perfectly. But then someone else wore it and now it doesn’t fit right anymore. I can feel all the places they stretched it out. Does that make sense?”

Bellamy replies uncertainly, “Kind of.”

Clarke explains it in more specific, concrete terms, “She was righthanded, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“And I’m lefthanded. But when I reached for the brush it was my right hand that came out first, I had to remind myself to use my left…” she continues. “And earlier I felt myself start to slouch and it felt familiar to my body but weird for me because that’s not how I stand. It’s how Josephine stood. My body has grown used to her and now has all of _her_ muscle memory, not mine.”

“Oh,” understanding dawns on his face. “Yeah. That’s… horrifying but yeah, it makes sense.”

She agrees, her face sullen, and tilts her head to the side to swipe at the shadowing on her jaw. She peeks at his reflection in the mirror and catches his eyes darting away from her chest. She feels herself blush. This dress is extremely revealing, the majority of her chest is on display. Which seems to have caught Bellamy’s notice. So, she admits to herself, maybe it’s a good thing. But that lack of material also means that the deep red flush running from high on her cheeks to down and across her sternum is also on full display. Which is definitely a bad thing.

She straightens her head and swipes at her lips, hoping the length of the washcloth will cover her face and chest enough until she calms down.

She wonders if Josephine wore clothes this revealing all the time. Was this for a special occasion or did she walk around every day with this much of Clarke’s skin on display? Or more? How much of her privacy did Josephine get a chance to put on show?

A terrible thought occurs to her.

A gross, disgusting, violating thought.

She needs to know if it’s true.

She almost can’t bear to ask the question, afraid that if the words rise up, bile with come with them, but still she needs to know.

“Bellamy?” she asks shakily.

“Yeah?” He must notice the fear in her voice because he bestows upon her his undivided, most careful attention.

“Was-” She takes a deep breath. “Was Josephine… _with_ … anybody while she was in me?”

She can see the millisecond he understands what she’s asking because his face betrays all the same disgust she feels in her heart.

He is quick to answer, “Not that I know of.”

It’s not a ‘no,’ but it’s better than a ‘yes’. Plus, from all she knows about Josephine, she seems like the type of person who, if she was having sex, would let the whole world know about it.

Chances are Josephine didn’t cross that particular line. Though that thought isn’t completely encouraging given all the other lines she already knows she crossed.

She begins carefully wiping off the glitter, trying not to irritate her already tender eyes.

“Did you know I was alive the whole time?” she asks.

“No,” he replies sadly. “We found out about the mind-wipe and how it, usually, kills people. So, we thought you were dead too. The Primes said you were. But then after a week Miller and I heard the Lightbournes talking about getting rid of you for good and finding out how many more nightbloods we had with us, so we started trying to get you back.”

They thought she was dead for a whole week. No wonder they were relieved to have her back.

She catches on to the other remark as well though. The Primes were trying to get intel. And they had one of their people in her body. “Did Josephine pretend to be me?”

Bellamy pauses but nods, “She did.” His tone turns reassuring. “But we figured it out. She’s nothing like you.”

“We’re both Princesses.” Clarke jokes darkly.

“She’s a psychopathic spoiled brat.” Bellamy protests.

Clarke thinks that there may be people who, at one point, may have described her the exact same way. But she doesn’t say that self-destructive thought out loud.

She has to ask though, “Did she hurt anybody while she was in me?”

“Not physically,” he replies, though that doesn’t make her feel much better. “She was a manipulative genius. Most of the harm she caused was because of what she said or convinced others to do.”

“Oh.”

Clarke’s mind drifts to all the cruel things Josephine may have said to the people she cares about. All the ways she could have broken their hearts or filled them with war-hot anger. 200 years is a long time to hone the craft of destroying a person’s emotional wellbeing. She wonders if her people will start seeing her face in their nightmares, hearing her voice taunt them with Josephine’s words.

“It’s not your fault.” Bellamy can read her perfectly, he always could.

“It’s my face.”

“They know it wasn’t you,” he states clearly, no argument. “You said it yourself, she didn’t look like you. It hurt when she said horrible things with your voice, yes, but it only made me hate her, and miss you, more. This isn’t a burden for you to shoulder, okay?”

His words do help to reassure her some. And she’s too tired to argue. So, she continues wiping.

Eventually, her face is completely clean. It’s red and splotchy from all the scrubbing but she looks more like herself. She just needs her hair to calm down.

Bellamy instructs for her to put her head under the tap, so she leans over facing the bottom of the sink. The water turns on and starts running through her hair. Bellamy hands come up to help, one carding fingers through the strands, nails scratching lightly on her scalp making her sigh, the other resting on her forehead diverting the water from her eyes.

He murmurs softly that it’s done so she leans back up and rings the majority of the water out of her hair. He then drapes a towel around her shoulders, so she uses it to dry her head even more.

When she pulls the towel away, she is much more comfortable with what she sees in the mirror. Her hair is still somewhat wet and very scraggily, but its straight and undeniably Clarke Griffin. She looks like herself again.

Bellamy must agree because he grins.

“There she is.”

She grins back and meets his tired eyes.

“Are you okay?” she questions, concerned. “Your bags almost blend into your beard.”

Bellamy laughs, but its hollow, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Clarke knows him better than that. “When was the last time you slept?” He stays silent, actually turning from her and leaving the small bathroom. She follows after him, clutching his wrist before he is able to reach the door and leave Josephine’s chambers entirely. “Wait, Bellamy, please wait. Talk to me.” He doesn’t face her, so she stubbornly grabs his shoulders and turns him herself. The tear making its way silently down his cheek gives her pause. “Hey, is something going on? Something you’re not telling me about? With Octavia? Or Echo?” He shakes his head and sniffs but doesn’t reply or meet her eyes. “Are we in danger?”

“No, Clarke no, nothing like that.” He finally replies, but she isn’t deterred, pushing him with her blue gaze to admit what’s bothering him. “It’s just-” He takes a deep breath and confesses. “It’s just you, Clarke. Losing you.”

“Oh.” She releases his shoulders but doesn’t move away. She wants to comfort him, but she doesn’t quite get why he looks so tormented. “I’m okay now, Bellamy.”

“I know. But…” He starts shakily, the tears turning into soft sobs as he works himself up over her. “We thought you were dead Clarke. _I_ thought you were dead. For a whole week I thought you were dead, and it broke me.” His whole body shudders with those words. His voice sounds so hollow it shatters her heart. He goes on, tears growing heavier with every sentence. “I lost you once. I left you in Praimfaya and I thought you were dead. For _six years_ I thought you were dead. I mourned you and I missed you.” His eyes clench shut in vain to stop the tears. Clarke wraps her fingers into the material of his shirt, pulling him closer to try to console him as this strong, beautiful man breaks down in front of her. “I missed you so fucking much. I spent every day wishing you were there with me to help me make the hard choices, to keep me sane, or to just… _be there_ , y’know? Because I needed you. I spent six fucking years thinking up all the things I wanted to say to you. Everything I wanted to say but never got the chance to.”

His hands come to rest on her upper arms clenching her just as tight as she is him. Then he opens his eyes and a sad smile graces his face. “And then I got you back, you were alive, and we were home, but I didn’t tell you any of it. A war happened and I didn’t tell you. We landed on another planet and I _still didn’t tell you_. You told me I was your family and that I was important to you and I didn’t even say it back. I was scared. I don’t know why I was scared but I was so I waited. And then I waited too long because I lost you _again_. You were dead _again_. And I wasn’t there to protect you. You died terrified and alone and not knowing how much you meant to me. That _broke_ me. I- I can’t lose you again Clarke, never again.”

Clarke can see as the sobs wrack his body how much he has been killing himself over this and wants more than anything else to in the world to calm his tortured mind. A wayward curl falls over his forehead, so she pushes it back into place. Then she lets her fingers linger on his cheek, her thumb swiping away a tear, and guiding him to look into her eyes. Forcing all the emotions she feels for him into her stare so that he can understand.

She feels tears return to her eyes as she replies, “I did that too. Coming up with a list of all the things I wanted to say to you if I ever got the chance? I did that. Of course, I actually said them into a radio.” She tries to joke; her watery voice lessens the humour. Then she remembers the words she was never even brave enough to say into the radio. The words she knows he needs to hear, and she needs to say. “I love you, you know that right?” He’s shocked if his sharp inhale is anything to go by. She reaches up and clasps her other hand around the back of his neck, bringing him in so that he cannot possibly miss these words or misinterpret them. “You’re my partner, my… _best friend_. The heart to my head. I trust you probably more than I do anyone else in the universe and…” A sob shudders through her body in time with his but she pushes out a big smile. “I love you _so much_. And I don’t want to lose you again either. We’re in this together, okay? I promise you’ll never lose me again. Because I, sure as hell, am not gonna lose you.”

After an agonising moment Bellamy smiles the widest she’s ever seen and forcefully pulls her body into his in a grand embrace. Their bodies shake against each other as they’re both still crying, and they have matching tears soaking each other’s collarbones. But Clarke has her face tucked into Bellamy’s neck with his strong desperate hands wrapped around her back like he never wants to let go. She feels at home.

The hug could have lasted eons and she would not have noticed. However, eventually, their breathing calms, their eyes dry, and they have soaked up as much of each other’s presence as they can. Their hearts full. So, they part.

Clarke wipes at her face, and knows both her cheeks and eyes are pathetically red. But Bellamy’s are the same and they’re both smiling through it, so she doesn’t really care.

She looks up at him and jokes, “So… that was my confession.” Then more hesitant, but serious, “What were the things you wanted to say to me?”

He ducks his head, embarrassed but still smiling, “You, uh… kind of stole the words right out of my mouth.” He meets her eyes again and they both laugh.

Relief fills her knowing that all is good, great even, with Bellamy. They understand each other.

A strand of damp hair falls in front of her face and he pushes it back, his face turning soft like it does on wonderful rare occasions. And he says, equally soft, “Love you too, Princess.”

Those extraordinary four words fix countless cracks and breaks inside her soul. Every misstep in their relationship, every doubt, betrayal, beg for forgiveness, is an open wound that is sewn together and healed over instantly. Because they _love_ each other. They trust each other. And they’re not going to lose each other. Never again.

They stand there for long moments in amazed silence. Not knowing what to say or do. Just smiling at each other stupidly wide and giddy. Fearing to break the moment but absorbing the perfect knowledge that nothing will break them apart again.

The moment ends up being broken by Abby. She knocks softly and enters the room carrying a small pile of clothes in her hands. Her eyebrow raises at their proximity and the look on their faces but doesn’t ask any question. She simply walks over and hands the material to Clarke.

“Are these okay?” she asks.

It’s a simple set of linen clothes. The shirt is tan and long sleeved, the pants a soft grey. They’re a far cry from her black tank top, leather and chainmail jacket and combat boots, but they’ll be comfortable to sleep in.

“Yeah, Mom. Thanks.”

“Of course.”

Madi enters seconds later, Jackson behind her, Clarke greets her daughter with another hug and thanks Jackson for escorting her. The doctor nods goodnight to the inhabitants of the room and leaves back down the stairs.

The twelve-year-old yawns and looks longingly towards the bed. Clarke catches her mom looking around the room, perhaps for a couch to sleep on, but she has another idea.

“There’s enough room for all three of us on the bed, right?” she asks her mother and daughter. She looks to Madi to see if she’s comfortable with sleeping in the same bed as a woman she technically only met a couple of months ago, but she’s already stripping of her jacket and boots, contented sleepy smile planted firmly on her lips. When she turns towards her mother, the older woman looks grateful, moving to sit on the end of the bed to remove her own boots.

Once Madi has stripped down into her shirt and pants, the clothes she sleeps in, she plonks herself down in the centre of the mattress. “The beds big enough, sure,” she states, then holds up the blanket, “but this?” She meets Clarke’s eyes with all the sass of your average preteen, “Is not. You’re a blanket hog.”

The three girls laugh but are interrupted when Bellamy speaks up.

“I can go find more blankets.” He offers.

It seems both the eldest and youngest Griffin women forgot that Bellamy was there, as they jump at the sound of his voice, but Clarke didn’t. She feels his presence like a beacon. She turns and thanks him, “That would be great.”

He smiles, nods and dawdles out of the room.

Clarke wants to talk to him more. But they’re safe now. They’ll have time later. And she needs to spend time with, talk to, Abby and Madi.

And get some goddamn sleep.

So, she smiles and lets him go.

Abby and Madi settle in, the elder sliding up onto the bed properly and younger starting to undo her braids so that Clarke can brush it out before they go to sleep like they always do. She just watches them for a long moment. Her mom and her daughter.

Then she heads back into the bathroom to get changed for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments appreciated!  
> Thanks for reading :)


	3. Blankets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. Blame it on my brain just coming up with like 7 new works to write thanks to the sheer awesome Bellarkeness of recent episodes, then when I got back to writing this chapter it got so long I had to split it in two, then the auto-save on documents failed meaning I had to rewrite about 6000 words, yeet. But everything's sorted out now and two more chapters are gonna be coming in quick succession.
> 
> Also thank you for the great response so far. I'm so happy you guys are liking this and I love your comments so so so so much.

Bellamy steps out of Josephine’s room and into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

So many feelings overwhelm him that he has to lean back against the wall and just breathe them in for a second.

_Clarke’s alive._

_Clarke’s awake._

_Clarke’s safe with her family._

His face splits into a smile so wide it hurts.

_She said that she loves him._

_He said he loves her back._

_She knows._

The thing he desperately wanted to say to her long before he stepped foot on that fucking rocket ship was now out in the open. And it was all good. They were communicating. They trusted and understood each other. They were back to being them. But better than before because now they both knew how much they meant to each other. And everything they would do they’d do it together. No more losing each other.

_He has Clarke back._

His _Cl-_

“Bellamy?”

He turns his head sharply and sees Echo standing at the top of the stairs. The smile slips off his face. He rakes in a deep breath and shoves off the wall, meeting her halfway down the middle of the hallway. She doesn’t meet his eyes, but that’s fine, he doesn’t make an effort to meet hers either. So, for a moment, they just stand there in stiff silence, Echo staring resolutely over his left shoulder, him examining the stone under his boot.

“Octavia and Diyoza have returned.” The tall brunette states at long last.

Bellamy’s heart stutters in his chest and he swallows with difficulty before asking, “The Children of Gabriel?”

“Most of them chose to wait down in the fields until a treaty was made.” She explains. “Two of their leaders, Tobias and Rin, are waiting for us in the antechamber to get the meeting underway. The way Octavia described it they were hesitant to come at all. They only agreed when both Octavia and Diyoza swore they would join them in waging war against Sanctum if the meeting turned out to be a trap.” She tilts her head slightly, face considering. “Though I suppose that was a smart decision. I certainly would feel better about walking into hostile enemy territory if I had the two most dangerous women to ever live on my side.”

Bellamy can’t think of anything to say so he just coughs and nods.

At his silence she continues, “The people of Sanctum have chosen the schoolteacher Murad and guard Jade to represent them, so they are also waiting in the antechamber. The only people left to arrive before we can get the meeting started are Abby, Clarke, Madi and you.”

He glances back at the bedroom door leading to the women in question, and shakes his head, “I think we’ll be doing this one without them. They need to be alone together. To rest.”

“You want to run a council deciding the fate our people, and negotiating a peace and trade agreement with the only other people on the planet, without The Commander?” Having sworn loyalty to Madi and trained with all the obedience of an Azgeda spy, Echo looks incredulous at the idea.

But Bellamy thinks not of the Madi with a forehead covered in warpaint ready to fight to the death in a gorge for her people.

He thinks of the Madi about twenty paces behind him, tired and scared but so incredibly happy to have her mother back with her. That twelve-year-old girl who’s experienced entire lifetimes worth of pain and sorrow at way too young an age and has many more shoved inside her head. He thinks of when she jumped on the bed and joked at Clarke’s expense, the glimmer of humour in her eyes almost making the giant bags underneath them disappear.

He thinks about going in there and telling her she doesn’t have time for happiness right now and putting the weight of the world back on her tiny shoulders when she only just managed to shrug it off.

No way he’s going to do that.

“I think she’ll understand.” He assures.

Echo’s eyebrows furrow and her mouth opens to protest but a different voice rings through the hall, interrupting her.

“Thank you all for gathering. If we are all ready, I can start the ceremony?” Gaia’s announcement bounces calm and clear between the walls of the castle.

Bellamy and Echo follow the sound to a balcony at the end of the hall where they can look down upon the town centre at the base of the castle. Gaia stands in the middle of the clearing before a small fire. To her side sits a plinth holding a box lined with lavish cloth. Within the box sit the mind-drives, each paired with a photo of the Prime to which they belong. Between the steps, in front of the door to the reliquary, lays a long line of bodies wrapped in delicate shrouds- the bodies of the hosts. The families of the hosts stand nearby. Bellamy spots Jordan standing resolutely with Delilah’s parents. The rest of the clearing is filled with seemingly every other citizen of Sanctum.

With subdued nods from the people standing closest to her, Gaia raises her voice to the crowd around her and begins the mass funeral.

“Tonight, we say goodbye to people we loved and admired dearly.” Her voice is even, her words overflowing with respect for the people of Sanctum and their losses. “Not only to the Primes, who built this society, but also to the brave people who gave up their lives for a cause greater than themselves, for the prosperity of others and Sanctum as a whole.”

The young Fleimkipa removes the first mind-drive from the box, holding it aloft carefully in her hand, “Priya Desai was a loving mother, not only to her son, but to her apprentices. She had a great intelligence that is responsible for the technology and protection that has kept Sanctum alive and thriving since its birth. And she always encouraged this intelligence in others. Taking great care to share her wisdom to those who desired it. But her choice to die does not remove that wisdom from the world, it presents us with a gift. To take the knowledge she gave us and move forward with our own discoveries, our own inventions. Sanctum owes Priya the safety of it’s past, but to move into Sanctum’s future, we must now say goodbye. Rest in peace Priya Desai, hallowed by thy name.”

“Hallowed be thy name.” The Sanctum people echo back the words, a solemn farewell.

Eulogy given, Gaia gently drops the mind-drive into the fire, the flames eating away at the plastic and metal until nothing more remains.

She then turns towards the crowd and continues, “We also say goodbye to Delilah Workman, who died far too young. She was good and smart and had such unbelievable courage. She was a beloved daughter and a loyal friend.” Gaia pauses briefly as she catches sight of Delilah’s mother and father crying. Bellamy can see that Jordan too seems to be holding back tears. “Her spirit was filled with so much kindness, freedom and joy. She made Sanctum a brighter place and she will be dearly missed. Rest in peace Delilah Workman, hallowed by thy name.”

Again, “Hallowed be thy name,” is repeated by everyone gathered around the clearing. Delilah’s family and Jordan reach down and lift the makeshift stretcher Delilah’s body lays on. Bellamy watches, heart breaking, as he watches Jordan sob in utmost sorrow and escort the dead body of his first love out of the town centre heading towards her final resting place at the offering grove.

Once the mourning family is out of sight Gaia continues on, lifting the next mind-drive over the fire, “Ryker Desai-”

“She’s good at that.” Bellamy’s attention to the funeral is interrupted by Echo. She leans against the balcony rail, observing the ceremony as he was, with a keen eye.

“She’s a Fleimkipa.” He remarks. “She’s probably been trained for this.”

When it was decided that Sanctum would hold a funeral for the Primes, a chance to let go and move on, they weren’t sure how to proceed with it. Most of the Primes were either locked up or waiting patiently, soon to get their chips removed from the bodies of their hosts, though Josephine was still on the loose wracking havoc elsewhere. Even Gabriel had snuck away from his “children” in the forest to help usher in the end of the Primes’ era.

They debated having someone from Sanctum perform the ceremony, but no one was willing to do it. Either they were still under the Primes influence and refused to contribute to their downfall, or they just had no idea how to do it. The people of Sanctum were so reliant on their leaders they had never even imagined what a world could look like without them. They had no precedent or practice for what to do when a Prime dies, as before they always came back.

And so, in a religion made only of gods and servants, no one was qualified to officiate their passing.

When Gaia had volunteered for the job Bellamy had been confused. And worried. He knew Gaia had a distaste for the Primes and the beliefs they enforced, and “distaste” was putting it lightly. But she had assured everyone that while she doesn’t respect their faith – the fact that the “gods” stole life from others never letting the world progress after them – she respected the fact that the people of Sanctum had a faith. She said that they had their understanding of the world brought to ruins, and they had a right to say goodbye to their beliefs in a way that brings them comfort and helps them move forward.

Looking down at her now Bellamy knows she was the right one for the job. She talks of the Primes respectfully, while encouraging the crowd to move on without them, find hope in their passing. She does justice to the hosts, mourning their unnecessary deaths, emphasising the loss of what could have been.

He doesn’t know where “rest in peace” came from. Maybe it’s Sanctum’s “May We Meet Again” or “Your Fight is Over.” If it is, he appreciates the sentiment.

“You’re probably right.” Echo agrees shortly.

Bellamy finally looks at her face. Her lips are tight, and her brow is furrowed. She looks tired, but they all do. Her whole body is stiff, arms tightly crossed, and jaw clenched, and she stares determinedly anywhere but at him. She’s upset.

Suddenly he feels bad for how rigidly he’s been speaking to her. She stands straight to walk away but he stops her with a gentle hand on her elbow.

“Hey,” he starts, his voice more caring, “You okay?”

She shrugs off his hand but doesn’t walk away. Her eyebrows raise sardonically as she reminds him, “We broke up Bellamy. You don’t have to check up on me.”

The sadness in her voice only makes the guilt in his chest inflate harder.

He tries to appeal to her, “You were my friend before you were my girlfriend. I’m allowed to worry.”

She steps away from him and leans against the wall like he had been doing when she first found him, though with none of the happiness, her face shows only determination.

“Breaking up was the right decision.” She states firmly. “We weren’t… good.”

He nods awkwardly and shoves his hands into his pockets but waits to hear more of her thoughts.

“We don’t work.” She reasons. “You are… _so driven_ by your emotions. You feel them so deeply and you let them control you. You think with your heart. It’s not a bad thing,” she hurries to clarify, “it’s just how you function. I’m not like that. You deserve someone who is not only _just now_ learning how feel emotions in the first place.”

He opens his mouth to oppose that self-deprecating statement, to reassure her.

“And _I_ deserve,” she interrupts. “Someone who I don’t feel like I need to prove myself to every minute of every day.”

“Prove yourself?” He questions. “Echo I forgave you years ago.”

“Yeah, you and next to no one else,” she replies sullenly. “Being with you… I’ve hurt so many people you care about. I see you with Clarke or Octavia or any of the many other of your loved ones I’ve tried to kill and all I can think about are my sins. And how much I need to redeem myself.” She shakes her head and clears her throat when her voice thickens, not letting the emotion through. “Being your girlfriend made me feel guilty _all the time_. I thought if I was good to you the others could forgive me, and maybe eventually I would forgive myself. But that just led to me lowering myself for you, agreeing to everything you say like I was your perfect little soldier. I treated myself like I wasn’t your equal. So, you treated me the same way. You just started ordering me around. And I just went with it because I thought that’s what I deserved, what I needed to do to be worthy of you. But that’s not how a relationship should be. I need to be with someone who I can be equals with. And I can’t do that with you. Not with all the baggage between us.”

Bellamy is stunned by her confession. Though the more he thinks about it the more sense it makes. He feels guilty for making her feel that way, for unconsciously treating her like he was better than her. And he agrees, she does deserve better than that.

He also recognises that it was definitely a good thing they broke up. She’s right, he does think with his heart. He’s driven by his emotions and values the importance of sharing them with the people he cares about. The importance of communication and openness. If Echo has been feeling like this all along, at the very least since they touched down on Earth again after Praimfaya, and she never told him even after all the time they were together, that shows a distinct lack of trust or emotional security in their relationship. And he doesn’t want a relationship like that.

“I’m sorry.” He says, though he knows it won’t be enough.

She finally looks up and meets his eyes, “Me too.”

They stay like that for a long second, watching each other, coming to terms with the fact that this was inevitable, they’re over. And it’s better that way.

Then she stands up away from the wall, pushes back her shoulders, lifts her chin and strides back down the hallway to the stairs.

“Echo,” he calls out to her. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

She turns her head over her shoulder and nods. Then she reminds him, “The meeting starts whenever you’re ready.”

“I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

He watches her stride strongly away, Azgeda confidence back in place, an armour he hopes she will one day be able to shed.

It’s not until she’s out of sight that he realises she never answered his question about whether she was okay.

Though he decisively brushes that thought off – she’s Echo, of course she’ll be okay – and returns to his original mission.

_Blankets._

_Must find blankets_.

In all his, admittedly small, exploration of the castle he hasn’t come across anything resembling a storage cupboard, and other than that he has no idea where people might keep spare blankets. So, he opens the door closest to him and, finding another Prime’s bedroom, takes the blanket off the bed and bundles it up in his arms. He thinks one blanket per Griffin is a good course of action, so he walks straight into the next room over, stealing the blanket from that bed as well.

Bounty in hand, he heads back to Abby, Clarke and Madi’s bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much Bellarke in this one but the next is very Dad!Bellamy heavy and then it just gets real Bellarkey.
> 
> Again thank you for reading :)
> 
> Comments make my day!!!


	4. Hairbrush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because we deserve more Dad!Bellamy & Madi content.

Bellamy’s soft knock on the door is replied by a “Come in,” so giddy with laughter it reminds him of wind chimes.

Upon entering he is met with a picture that warms his heart to bursting.

Abby is laying down on her side on the bed, tucked under the blanket, head on pillow, seemingly already half asleep. With half-lidded eyes she watches Clarke and Madi fondly.

Clarke is seated against the headboard on the side of the bed closer to the window. Madi sits facing away from her, hair freshly brushed out flowing freely down her back. A hairbrush sits next to Clarke’s leg. The blonde runs her fingers gently through her daughter’s hair, expertly entwining it into intricate braids.

They both look so happy. Clarke’s eyes are alight and her smile wide in a giggle from a joke he must have just missed. Madi’s eyes are closed in contentedness, body relaxed from the feeling of nails scraping lightly against her scalp, but her smile mirrors her mothers as they bask in the domestic routine.

At the peace on the young girl’s face, Bellamy is struck by the memory of the first time he did this very same thing for her.

It had been the night after they found out Josephine had taken over Clarke’s body, the first night they thought Clarke was dead and gone forever. Bellamy had spent all day angry, fighting Russel, fighting Simone, fighting Sanctum guards. He hurled viscous barbs at Josephine when she dared make an appearance, though he didn’t look at her the whole time, unable to look at another woman wearing his partner’s face. By sunset though, Bellamy had run out of anger and all he had left was despair. He spent hours sitting alone in an abandoned corner outside the tavern crying his eyes out. The mourning felt achingly familiar which just made it worse. He had endured this pain this twice now, but instead of numbing it, now he was completely obliterated by it. He knew he would never grow used to the hole in his heart in which Clarke had resided.

When night had fallen properly, stars fully out and Sanctum slowly drifting off to sleep, he eventually ran out of tears. He sat there numbly for a few more long minutes before he realised that now, as the sole leader of their motely crew, he had to lead. Be there for the others. Mourn with them. And sooner rather than later make plans on what to do next. So, he stood up, joints popping, soul breaking, and went inside.

A few people raised their heads and met his eyes when he entered but no one said anything. Abby was nowhere to be seen. Murphy, Emori and Raven were sat at the bar drinking. Miller and Jackson were huddled together in a corner, leaning heavily on each other. Jordan sat sullenly on the steps to the upper levels, eyes on nothing, arms firmly crossed. Echo sat straighter in her chair close to the door, her attention focused solely on him, ready to jump into action the second he opened his mouth to give instructions. He had no idea what instructions to give.

He had been just about to ask where Madi and Gaia were when an answering crash came from upstairs. Everyone’s eyes snapped to the ceiling at the loud sound. The crash was soon followed by shouting, the words were muffled by the floor in between them but it was definitely Madi’s voice. Gaia’s voice could be heard trying to cut in but every time it did Madi’s voice only got louder and louder. The fight was ended by the sound of another crash and Gaia hurrying shakily out of the room and down the steps, the door slammed shut behind her.

He rushed to meet Gaia at the bottom of the steps, worriedly questioning her, “Is Madi alright?” He felt stupid as soon as he said it. _Of course_ she’s not alright. But there’s a difference between a haunted young girl throwing stuff to cope with losing her mother, and an angry young girl with warlords in her head thirsting for ‘ _blood must have blood._ ’ Either way he cared enough about her to want to comfort her any way he could.

Thankfully, Gaia seemed to understand.

“I was trained to counsel Commanders,” she murmured, guilt and desolation weighing down her sharp features, “I have no idea how to console a grieving daughter.”

Bellamy nodded mutely and Gaia took that as her dismissal, taking a seat at the bar with the others.

He waited a short moment longer before walking up the stairs and rapping carefully on the door to Madi’s room. When he didn’t get an answer, he peeked his head in hesitantly, eyes landing on the mess around the room. A chair lay smashed to pieces against one of the walls, an explanation for one of the crashes. The covers were ripped of the bed, clothes and other various objects thrown about the place. The room painted a picture matching his own wretched anger from earlier in the day.

Madi sat on the bed, face red and cheeks wet from crying, trying to brush out her hair. When she noticed him in the doorway, she sent him a puffy-eyed glare, though it held no real heat, then resumed trying to tame her tangled locks. He could tell with one look she had no idea what she was doing. She ran the brush harshly from the top of her head but didn’t let it run all the way down past the ends before she brought it back up, the hairs still caught in the bristles pushed into entangling themselves up, before she brushed them down again forming a large clump of knots at the bottom.

He saw her grow frustrated, turning to rough and quick strokes that did nothing but make the problem worse.

Then she gave up. Tossed the brush to the side. Looked up at him with empty eyes and explained quietly, “Clarke brushes and braids my hair every night before bed. I don’t know how to do it myself.”

Bellamy resisted to urge to march right over there and scoop the grieving child into a tight hug, instead asking, “Do you want me to help?”

Th question seemed to puzzle her, “You know how to brush and braid hair?”

“I raised Octavia, remember?” He stepped out of the doorway, into the room properly, and closed the door behind him. He approached her slowly, like she was a spooked animal, with a reassuring posture and placating expression. “I was brushing her hair since it was long enough to brush. And then she got old enough to get bored, so I learned how to braid it too.” Madi took the brush back in her hands, looked down and fiddled with it while he talked. “One time we were reading a Greek Myths book together and she saw one of the women in a picture had a really intricate braided updo thing. She asked me to do it on her. It took like, five hours and about a hundred tries and still looked terrible by the end of it. But she still loved it… Plus, it was five hours she wasn’t locked up in a room by herself thinking about how lonely she was.” Madi’s eyes had snapped back to his at that last bit. “So I counted that as a win.” She had gripped the handle of her brush so hard her knuckles had gone white. Her face was overcome with indecision and residual frustration. “I promise I’ve gotten better since then.” He had finished, half-heartedly trying to lighten the girl’s mood to no avail.

At long last Madi had handed the brush over and he had settled on the bed behind her, keeping a careful distance between them as he began to coerce the bird’s nest from her head, taking extreme caution not to pull too hard or cause any discomfort.

Minutes stretched by as Bellamy had worked on, trying to think of something to say to comfort Madi but surprisingly she had spoken first.

“I can’t remember much about my nomon. Barely even what she looked like.” She had started, voice completely numb, devoid of emotion.

Initially he hadn’t gotten the significance of what she was talking about.

She had continued to explain, “She wasn’t around much. I used to wonder sometimes if she regretted giving birth to me and that’s why she didn’t spend time with me. Of course, now I know it was to keep me safe,” she paused and tucked her legs under her. “She was a warrior. She lived in a tiny home _supposedly_ by herself. If she’d spent all day in there with me instead of out hunting or training then people would have gotten suspicious. So, she would spend the entire day out in the world, leaving me alone in a hole in the floor. At night she would come back, wait for everyone else in the village to fall asleep, take me down to the river, give me a bath and teach me to spear-fish so I could eat something.” Bellamy thought about this strong little girl eating just once a day, never seeing the sunlight, in complete isolation for the majority of her life and it made him sick. He used that anger to successfully work the clump of knots out of her hair. “She made sure I never even saw another person ever; told me they would get me killed.

“When I was four, she was called off to war and never came back. But she’d taught me that no matter what happened I needed to keep myself hidden. So, I did. I hid myself in the floor all day and came out at night to eat same as always. I just did it without her. I was so scared I would get caught without her there to protect me. I was terrified of _everyone else in the world_ , thinking they would kill me as soon as they saw me.

“And then Praimfaya happened. I had the whole valley to myself and I was actually _happy_ about it. I got to walk around freely. I got to see the sun. I explored the forest, mapped out all the traps, fished. When Clarke turned up, I was terrified all over again. She spotted me watching her and I thought she was there to kill me, so I lead her into a bear trap and stole her stuff while she slept.” Madi had let out a sad little huff of laughter at that and he’d gotten the sense that it was something she and Clarke giggled about years later. “I stalked her for a few days, and I knew she knew that’s what I was doing. So, I just kept waiting for her to rush at me with a knife, try kill me like my nomon always told me she would. Instead she drew me a picture.”

Bellamy smiled at that, such a Clarke thing to do.

“She was kind and gentle. She said she was afraid and lonely and needed someone to talk to. So, eventually, I stopped being so scared. We hunted and gathered berries together in the day and slept across the fire from each other at night. Then I started to trust her enough to talk to her; told her my name, taught her how to spear fish. She asked me silly things like my favourite colour. I didn’t realise how much I had missed talking to someone.”

Her voice had gotten slightly shaky and he saw her covertly try to wipe something from her cheek without him noticing.

“Then my throat started to hurt from me talking so much after so long not talking at all. Back with my nomon, if I ever got hurt or sick, she could never take me to a healer. So, her solution, no matter what, was for me to sit still, shut up and wait for it to get better. And whatever stupid thing I did that had got me hurt or sick in the first place, never do it again. So, when my throat started hurting, I stopped talking.”

If Bellamy’s heart hadn’t been broken for her already, it would have just in that moment. He had pushed down the itchy feeling in his eyes that told him he was about to cry again, wanting to stay strong for Madi as her voice got thicker with tears the longer she talked. He finished brushing out her hair and started weaving it into an elaborate braid comfortable enough to sleep in, and kept on listening silently, intently.

“Clarke noticed immediately,” she slightly leaned back into him, her words sad but fond. “That night by the fire she asked me if she had done anything wrong. Which she definitely hadn’t. When I finally told her the reason, I expected her to tell me shut up and get over it. But, _again_ , she surprised me. She made me tea to help with my sore throat and told me that it was okay, she could talk enough for the both of us until I was comfortable talking again. And she just… _started talking_ \- telling me stories about you guys. I’d asked her the day before about who she was talking to on the radio everyday and she’d just told me “friends” but that night she told me all about all of you. Monty and his moonshine. Murphy being a fleimkipa. Raven being a genius badass. And you. She talked a lot about you.” His heart had stuttered at that. “How much of a dick you were when she first met you.” Then it sank. “How much she grew to trust and respect you.” Then it soared.

“After I finished my tea I started scratching at my scalp. My hair hadn’t been brushed since before my nomon left, y’know? So, it was a complete disaster. Clarke offered to brush it out for me. It took hours to get all the knots out, but she just kept on talking, not just about you guys though, about everyone in the bunker too. When she told me about Octavia, I was… in awe of her, one girl under the floor to another.” He had felt a pang of sorrow at the realisation that one of this girl’s biggest childhood heroes, his sister, had tried to have her killed. He was quickly learning the universe had no end to its cruelty, its sick sense of humour, to plague Madi like it has. “She finished brushing my hair and asked if I wanted it up in any way. I asked how Octavia had her hair, so Clarke gave me her warrior braids.

“Even after she was done, she kept talking. I leaned up against her side and listened to the sound of her voice. She talked about her dad, Wells, Finn, Anya, Lincoln, Jasper, Lexa, Luna, Roan. She told me stories about the stars and old paintings. Soccer and chess. Anything and everything. She kept on talking until I fell asleep in her arms. She did the same thing the next night and the next. And every night she made me tea until I was strong enough to talk back. Then it just became routine. Every night she would do my hair and we would talk for as long as we could until we went to sleep. It was my favourite time of day. Just being with her.”

Full story laid out in front of him, Bellamy had truly grasped how precious this hair-brushing practice was for Clarke and Madi; their bonding activity from a time when they had only each other. And how privileged he was to be Clarke’s substitute that night.

He finished the braid and tied off the end, holding his breath as Madi worked herself up to finish what she had to say. He heard rather than saw the tears on her cheeks in her shuddering voice, her sniffly nose. He watched as her whole body shook with the effort of keeping sobs at bay.

“My nomon cared about me, I know she did,” she had conceded, voice barely about a whisper. “She kept me hidden because she couldn’t stand the thought of losing me to the conclave… But I never felt _loved_ until Clarke. She was the mom I never had… And now she’s _g-gone_.”

She had burst around to face him in a flurry of movement and flung her arms over his shoulders in a desperate hug. He responded in kind, wrapping himself around the small trembling figure in his arms, tucking her close as he used to when O had gotten a nightmare. She buried her snotty, tear covered face into his collarbone, and he brought his hand up and clasped tightly to the hair on the back of her head like he used to do with Clarke. With a shattered twelve-year-old in his arms, a girl he knew loved Clarke as much as he did, he let go and the tears ran free down his face once more. Mourning Clarke with the person who she loved most in the universe. The tears subsided long before the embrace did. He soothed his hand down her back and whispered comforting words until she stopped shaking. Then he kept on holding her until she fell asleep in his arms.

After that, realising how much Madi needed comfort, he decided to maintain the routine. Every night, instead of having a drink with Murphy and Miller or spending alone time with Echo, he would come up to Madi’s room, do her hair and talk with her until she fell asleep. He told himself it was for Madi’s sake, but if he was being honest, he got just as much emotional support out of it as she did.

The night they found out Clarke was alive they were both practically vibrating with energy. They conspired for hours longer than usual over ways to get her back. It was way past midnight by the time Madi had calmed down enough to let sleep take her. He hadn’t minded, he would stay up as long as she needed him. After all, he knew he wouldn’t be getting any sleep until he got Clarke back.

And now she’s back.

Sitting in Josephine’s bed with Madi in her arms, braiding her hair.

Taking over the action over the past three weeks is probably the main thing that has kept him sane, and he’ll probably miss it. He’s grown attached to Madi. Come to care about her as much as he does her mother. But it’s better this way. The mother and daughter fit together like they’ve never been apart. Their little family so tightly gathered on the mattress that the idea of them being separated again seems impossible.

It makes his heart ache.

A thought flashes through his mind, a brief desperate desire a be a part of it.

Clarke’s eyes light up when they look up and catch his. She looks beyond exhausted but content. He fights the desire to just march over there, tuck her into bed, and stand sentinel over her while she sleeps for a week straight. Instead he matches her sleepy smile with one of his own.

She finishes Madi’s braid and stands to meet him, taking the offered blankets from his hands and tucking them close to her chest.

“Thanks Bellamy,” she says earnestly. He nods bashfully in welcome. She steps back to the bed, placing the blankets down on the end and tossing one to Madi. Then she turns her head back over her shoulder to stare imploringly at him and pushes, “Now you get some sleep too, yeah?”

“Uh, that’s, um, probably not going to happen,” he stutters timidly. “I’ve got a long night ahead of me.” At her questioning look he continues, explaining, “We- the rest of us, some people from Sanctum and the Children of Gabriel - we’re actually about to have a meeting downstairs to sort out our next steps. Peace treaty and resources and all that.” He lifts his gaze and addresses all three Griffins. “Is it alright if we have it without you guys? Everyone else is there so I think we can manage while you get some rest.” He turns to face the youngest, “Madi?”

The little Commander stills in her efforts to unfold the blanket over her reclined body. He can see the confliction on her face, she’s torn between duty and the break from duty she desperately wants and deserves. So, he tries to convey with his tone and expression that saying yes, bowing out and getting some well-deserved respite, is okay. Not just okay _. Encouraged_.

He can see her understanding when her eyebrows tilt gratefully. She straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin, addressing him with as much Commander decorum as she can muster, “You’ve counselled me well in the past. I trust you to make good choices on my behalf.” Then she slouches again and lets out a childish smile, letting him in on the joke.

A chuckle bursts out of him and he half-bows before her, mischievously thanking her for her benevolence. Then he turns to the eldest Griffin woman, “Abby?”

The aging brunette doesn’t even pretend to want to be anywhere else than where she is, turning half-lidded eyes to him, and pointing out, “You’d know better what needs to be done than I would.”

He nods and turns to the only remaining woman. His eyes catching hers once again in easy familiarity. “Clarke?”

One eyebrow rises with her cheeky half-smile, “Go for it.”

They both huff out a short laugh.

And then they just stare at each other.

Her face is warm and open. He feels bare under her gaze, like she can see every thought in his mind and accepts and treasures each one. He wishes she would look the happy forever. He never wants to see her face contorted in sadness or pain ever again.

He wants to say more to her, pour his soul out to her and have her do the same to him, like they were earlier. Hug her again. Curl up in a safe little corner of the world together and never let her out of sight for the rest of his days.

But he can see she is almost dead on her feet at this point. Her arms are crossed slackly over her chest. Her eyes drooping shut sleepily.

So instead he takes a step back, faces all three women and bids them, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Bellamy,” they reply in unison and then break out in laughter again. His own laughter echoes right after them.

And once again, he finds himself grinning stupidly as he leaves the room, mood restored from standing in the happy bubble the Griffin family has settled into.

Looking at the stairs, he knows that this was a short oasis in what is going to turn out to be one hell of a night. Though just as he is preparing himself to face the crowd downstairs and make some undoubtedly hard decisions with a bunch of lost and frustrated people, he spies movement in one of the rooms he took blankets from. Shadows moving from behind the door he left ajar.

He doesn’t know what he expected as he peers his head into the room, but he definitely isn’t surprised when his eyes land on Murphy riffling through drawers and stuffing various objects into his pockets.

“What are you doing Murphy?”

His voice startles the younger man, the cockroach in question jumping out of his skin and dropping the object he had in his hand, it lands with a soft _‘thump’_ on the floor.

Embarrassed by being caught off guard, Murphy bites back with all the sarcasm of a teenage boy sassing his father, “Looting. Obviously.” At Bellamy’s raised eyebrow he continues with somehow even more attitude, “What? The Primes are dead. Their shit’s free game. Plus isn’t one of the goals of tonight supposed to be ‘ _resource sharing?_ ’”

The older man rolls his eyes but doesn’t stop him, not that he could if he tries. John Murphy does what he wants. Instead he backs out of the room, leaving the smirking man to his petty theft.

Then with a heavy heart, Bellamy heads down the stairs to face the music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love comments if you have the time :)
> 
> You can also follow me on tumblr. I'm kakotheres-writes there too.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic so I would really appreciate some constructive criticism :D  
> Thanks for reading.  
> More coming very soon.


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